


Espresso Fics

by iselsis



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Brother Acquisition, Adoption, Alfred Pennyworth Can't Make Waffles, Alpha Bruce Wayne, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Amnesiac Jason Todd, Baby Jason Todd, Bathing/Washing, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Cuddle Pollen, Cuddling & Snuggling, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne is Robin, Damian Wayne is a Brat, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Batman, Dick Grayson is Robin, Dimension Travel, Fainting, Gen, Good Parent Willis Todd, Hiding Injuries, Homelessness, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd and Damian Wayne Meet in the League of Assassins, Jason Todd is Red Head, Jason is a Dork, Mating Cycles/In Heat, NO CAPES, Nesting, Nightmares, Omega Jason Todd, Platonic Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Platonic Bedsharing, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Soulmates, Protective Bruce Wayne, Shifter AU, Sickfic, Sleepy Jason, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Stalker Tim Drake, Street Rat Jason Todd, The League of Assassins (DCU), Tim Drake Has a Headache, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Werewolf Dick Grayson, Werewolf Jason Todd, Young Dick Grayson, Young Jason Todd, Young Tim Drake, baby stalker tim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 16,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28972263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iselsis/pseuds/iselsis
Summary: Whump and fluff, but espresso sized.Flavors of the day:23. Titans Tower au with amnesiac Jason and sleep deprived Tim.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Leslie Thompkins & Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 1024
Kudos: 1350





	1. Jason and Bruce, sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm trying to raise my typing speed so I can finish fics faster (I'm aiming for 100 wpm) and to do that, I decided to do writing-sprint vignettes. I hope to update this every day. This one...got kind of long.
> 
> Note: these aren't drabbles, because the world drabble means a fic that's exactly 100 words.
> 
> For Periazhad! This one...got a bit long. Sick baby Jason getting a hug.

Bruce knocked on the door. “Jason?”

There was a small cough, followed by a sting of incoherent mumbling that sounded vaguely affirmative. Bruce waited another moment, just in case Jason wanted to clarify what he’d said, but when there was no further answer, Bruce opened the door and stuck his head inside.

There was a little knot of blankets curled miserably in the middle of the bed with nothing showing of the child inside but a small tuft of curly hair sticking out of the center of it all. With the muted orange comforter as the outermost blanket, Jason looked like a fat dying carrot.

Bruce walked across the room on silent feet in deference to Jason’s headache and sat down in the chair beside his bed, careful to avoid the clean, but suspiciously freshly-washed, bowl on the nightstand beside him.

“Hey, Jaylad. Alfred said you weren’t feeling well today?” Bruce asked.

Jason groaned and rolled his mound of blankets over. Bruce thought that he was being ignored, but then little fingers pulled down a corner of a blanket, revealing the rosy face of the boy underneath.

“’m _cold_ ,” Jason whined.

Bruce reached forward, slowly so he didn’t startle Jason, and laid the back of his hand on Jason’s head .

“You’re burning up,” Bruce pointed out. “You should get out of those blankets and take a bath to get you fever down.”

Jason’s pink nose wrinkled in exaggerated confusion and disgust. “A bath? The germs are on the _inside_.”

Bruce hmmed in agreement, moving his hand up to trail through Jason’s hair. The boy’s curls were all tangled, and the last time Bruce had tried to brush his fingers through tangled curls, he’d only managed to tangle it even worse and Jason had gotten a comb stuck in his hair trying to fix it.

Bruce switched to petting over the surface of Jason’s hair, and Jason went boneless with a resigned sigh.

“Your body is overheating,” Bruce told him. “Taking a lukewarm bath can help bring that temperature down.”

Jason groaned in what was almost a sob. “but it’ _cold_ , and I don’ _wanna_ be cold.”

Bruce chuckled. “I see. I won’t make you take a bath, but Alfred might later.”

Bruce had never had the heart to push his boys to do anything when they were sick and miserable. Alfred called him overindulgent, but that was why he had Alfred.

Jason huffed unhappily, but seemed to content himself with the temporary victory and wriggled out a little more so that Bruce had more surface area to pet. It got more of his body out of the cocoon , which was good, and Bruce couldn’t help but smile.

They sat in companionable silence for a while before Jason finally tilted his head so that he could look up at Bruce.

For a few moments, he just stared before he finally whispered, “My dad used to do this. When I got sick.”

Bruce didn’t let his eyes widen in surprise to keep from offending Jason’s memory of his father. It was better parenting than he would have ever expected from a criminal who’d spent half Jason’s life in prison.

“I see,” Bruce said at a loss for anything else. After a second, he added out of curiosity, “Do you miss him?”

Jason nodded, his little fists digging into the blankets from the inside. “He usedta be real nice when mom or I got sick. He didn’t let her be on no drugs, either, when he was there. It was just cause he got sent ‘way that last time that she…

Bruce had put Jason’s father away once, when Jason had been four or five, but he’d never been so glad that the GCPD had been the ones to pick Willis up that last time.

“I’m glad you had that,” Bruce said with a sad smile. Jason, though his father had died when he was eleven, had had even less time with him that Bruce had had with _his_ father. It was good that he had good memories of his father.

Jason smiled wistfully and nodded, then scooted a bit closer to the edge of the bed and looked up at Bruce with hesitant expectancy. Somehow, Bruce understood that expression and the faint edges of hope around the misery, just the same way he’d used to click with Dick.

Bruce scooped Jason up into his arms and tucked him and his entire mound of blankets under his chin. It was a bit of a reach given how many Jason had managed to filch from around the manor, even for Bruce, to manage to fit the whole pile, but he managed. Jason leaned his head against Bruce’s shoulder and turned his face so that the small puffs of breath through his mouth ruffled the fabric of Bruce’s shirt.

“I—y’know, you’re…you’re not so bad,” Jason said quickly. “At being a dad.”

Jason flushed bright pink the second he said it and retreated into the depths of his blanket burrito, leaving Bruce completely stunned. Of course he’d been fostering Jason for a couple months, but they hadn’t even brought up adoption yet, though he’d been wanting to. He just hadn’t known how Jason would react. Now, though…maybe he didn’t have to worry.

Bruce pressed a kiss to the small patch of hair still showing. “You know, you’re not so bad at being a son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Envy didn't think I could write a baby Jay fic without child abuse being referenced. Ta-da!


	2. Jason and Bruce, fainting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Bruce's argument is interrupted by Jason fainting and Bruce panicking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is actually closer to the length I was aiming for! Whoohoo! Finally, _finally_ nailed it!
> 
> This one's for Envy!

“I’m _fine_ ,” Jason snarled despite the heavy bags under his eyes and the loud growl of his stomach.

“You need to _rest_ ,” Bruce argued, and wasn’t he a hypocrite.

Jason ignored him, as he had been doing for the past three days, and kept typing at the keyboard. What he hoped to find, Bruce had no idea. They’d uncovered no leads with the kidnappings, and most of their team had resigned themselves for needing to wait for a mistake or another kidnapping, both of which Oracle would alert them to.

“You’re going to make yourself sick,” Bruce pointed out.

Jason snorted bitterly the way he always did before he said something with vicious barbs that he knew would hurt Bruce. “I’ve _died_ , Bruce. Like hell do I care about some _sniffles_.”

Bruce huffed. “You’re going to kill yourself all over again with that attitude.”

Jason slammed his hands down on the counter and threw the chair back to face Bruce. He leapt to his feet, already opening his mouth for yet another argument, but before he could say anything, his eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled forward.

Bruce barely lunged forward in time to keep Jason from slamming hard to the stone floor, but his son was completely limp in his arms.

 _Oh my god, he’s dead. I killed him again_.

Bruce dropped to his knees, his arms full of a lifeless child. “J—Jason? Jaylad?”

Jason wasn’t responding, wasn’t even twitching. Bruce couldn't tell if Jason was even breathing because his hands were shaking too hard and his eyes were blurred with panic.

“Jason!” Bruce shook Jason as hard as he could, shifting bones and organs and there was blood everywhere—but no, that was a smaller body in a different place, there was maybe still a chance. “Jason! Tim! Dick, Alfred, Damian!”

He had—he had to get Jason to the med bay. None of the others could carry a deadweight Jason, but he needed—he couldn’t find any strength in his hands, and then there was suddenly someone at his side leaning over Jason and striking for a pulse.

“He’s alive,” Tim said, his voice level but urgent. “What happened?”

“I—I don’t know—” Bruce stammered helplessly. “He jumped up, and then he just _fell_ , and—”

Tim muttered some choice words under his breath, but they didn’t have _time_ when Jason was hurt, he was _dying_.

“Dammit, I told him to eat something,” Tim grumbled.

“ _What_?”

Tim glanced up at him, and the urgent expression softened. He laid a hand on Bruce’s wrist.

“It’s okay, B. Jason’s okay…Dad. He just stood up too fast. He needs to eat something and stop acting like he’s immo— like he doesn’t need to,” Tim promised. “Jason’s okay. Everyone’s okay, Dad.”

Bruce took a deep, shuddering breath and choked down something that felt like a welling sob. Tim was always right, and he wouldn’t lie to him like that.

Bruce snatched Tim up against his chest a fierce hug and pulled Jason up right beside his smaller son. Tim squeaked in surprise, and Jason’s nose twitched against his shoulder. They were alive. Both of them, two children he’d never thought he’d ever be able to hold at the same time, his two perfect, wonderful, _alive_ sons _._

He hadn't killed his son again.

Tim melted into the hug and wrapped one arm loosely around Bruce’s back and the other, a little more hesitantly, around Jason’s. Jason still hadn't woken up.

After a couple minutes, his shaking hands had stilled enough that he _could_ carry Jason across the Cave to the medbay, but there wasn’t immediate danger, and he just…just needed another moment.

Just one moment more to enjoy his little piece of heaven before anyone else died.


	3. Dick and Bruce, sharing a bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick had a bad day and is snuggling with Bruce. Bruce loves his kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY NAILED THE FORM AND TIME LIMIT I WAS AIMING FOR WITH THIS.

There were knees in his stomach.

Bruce didn’t dare move a _muscle._

It wasn’t just that Dick had taken nearly an hour to fall asleep again after an _exhaustingly_ emotional day—whoever had neglected to _warn him_ about the fact that the class would be watching the _Lion King_ because the teacher was out sick should be _fired_. It was the fact that as long as Dick was asleep, he couldn’t make those horrible puppy-dog eyes, all dripping and wide and so full of innocent hope that Bruce wanted to protect no matter what the cost, even if it meant letting someone else crawl into his bed for the first time in years, and the first time in _decades_ that it hadn't been a romantic partner.

Dick was magical like that. Truly magical in a way Bruce only vaguely remembered being. How Dick had managed to hold onto that spark after everything he’d gone through was beyond Bruce, but he’d never let himself do anything that might take it away. The power Dick held over him was wildly terrifying and hopelessly addicting.

And so he was lying there, wide awake because of the pain in his side from Dick’s unnecessarily pointy toes, staring into the impish little face, blotchy but peaceful at last, and unable to move for fear of waking his son.

A wave of affection washed over him, and he took a risk, gently reaching out and brushing a lock of hair away from Dick’s forehead so that Bruce could see his eyes better.

“I love you, Dick,” Bruce whispered.

Bruce should have let sleeping dogs lie.

Dick blinked awake.

And started crying.


	4. Platonic Soulmate - Tim and Jason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "We run together, they're my family" by I_Write_Midnight_Snacks!

For as long as Tim could remember, he knew he had those words written on the back of his neck: _It’s okay. You’re safe now_.

He had other soulwords, but those were his favorite. They were inked onto his skin since he was born, the same red as all his other platonic soulwords. He spent hours daydreaming being swung from a burning building by Batman, or swept out of the way of oncoming traffic by a cheery faced Dick Grayson, or any number of increasingly fantastical stories.

They all ended the same way, though. As soon as Batman or Robin, sometimes both, realized that Tim was their soulmate, they took him home to their manor and took care of him, and he suddenly wasn’t alone anymore.

Except then he’d open his eyes, and he’d still be in the same cold, empty house, with no one else to make it feel a bit less dead.

That was what sent him out into Gotham almost every single night. He didn’t feel so alone with the ambient hum of life around him.

Tim leaned out over the side of the roof. It was chilly, with snow sifting into his boots and melting against his skin if he wasn’t careful how he stepped, but Robin was _still_ wearing those scaly green bottoms (Tim would never call them _panties_ and disrespect Robin that way, but… _why_?).

Tim raised his camera to get an amazing shot of Robin taking on five men in the snowy alley below—and slipped on a patch of ice underneath the snow.

There was a moment of breathless wonder as he fell forward over the three-story drop. At least he was going to see something beautiful before he died.

Sudden sharp pressure on his throat, and he was falling backwards and landing on his back in the snow.

 _I almost died_ , his brain informed his still-shocked body.

 _Wow_ , he replied as he buried his face in his hands.

His hands, then his shoulders, then his whole body was trembling, and it had nothing to do with the cold. _I almost died. I almost died_. Tears slipped silently and unbidden down his cheeks.

Snow crunched beside him, and then a hand squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Tim froze, again not because of the cold, and slowly raised his face.

That wasn’t Robin, or Batman.

His savior—his _soulmate_ —looked a little older than him, and not much taller. He had dark curls that poked out from underneath his hat, and worried blue eyes. He was wearing a coat, but it was filthy and way too small for him, and he had gloves, but they had holes in the palms. His freckled cheeks were too thin, too cold.

Tim stared in shock. He’d _heard_ of homeless kids, but it wasn’t until his gaze drifted past the boy to a ratty old sleeping bag behind him that he really _knew_ they existed.

His soulmate couldn’t live like that. He’d _die_.

“Do you want to come home with me?” Tim stammered without thinking about how much of a _creep_ he sounded and how he’d just wasted his first words. That would be such dumb soulwords to have.

His soulmate’s eyes widened. “You’re—”

They were interrupted by a sudden blur of color at the edge of the roof.

Robin stopped a few feet away, looking between them in shock. Tim and his soulmate stared back, just as stunned.

“What are you kids _doing_ out here?” Robin asked, his voice high with surprise.

Tim froze. His soulmate— _younger_ soulmate—froze too.

Those were _also_ his soulwords. And he was pretty sure that he wasn’t the only one.


	5. Steph, Damian, and Waffles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For November_Clouds, who wanted Steph and Damian.

Stephanie Brown was a hero. Not because she saved people nightly. Not because she fought supervillains almost every week.

No, it was because she was babysitting Damian Wayne for only five hundred dollars a day.

That sounded like a lot, sure, but it was _Damian Wayne_. She’d ducked three shurikens and one katana swing already, she was _still_ washing the slime from a gooperang out of her hair, and her hair was erratically colored neon orange because _someone_ had put orange hair dye in her shampoo.

Bruce _was_ going to pay to dye her hair back. Or maybe dye it purple. Bruce could go on and on about how it was “too distinctive, you’ll give yourself away” all he wanted, but it was _his_ brat’s fault.

So yeah, she was owed her waffles.

She whisked the batter carefully until it was just smooth. If she whisked it too much, it would get gross and awful. _Maybe that’s what Alfred does_ , she mused. The batter was perfect, so she turned to the already-hot waffle iron.

Steph felt rather than heard Damian’s presence. She snapped her head around, eyeing him for a weapon or an offensive stance, but all she found was a distasteful wrinkle of his snooty little nose.

“ _This_ is your revenge, Brown?” Damian snorted derisively.

Steph raised her eyebrows and sprayed oil on the iron. “No, this is _waffles_ , shrimp.”

“It is a weak attempt,” Damian sneered as she ladled batter onto the iron. “You’ll need more than _waffles_ to defeat me.”

Steph turned back to him, searching his face because there was no _way_ he’d just said waffles in that tone.

But _no_.

He was serious.

Stephanie squawked in hysterical laughter. She didn’t even care if he took the opportunity to kill her. She could die happy knowing that _Damian Wayne_ had said _waffles_ like they were deadly weapons.

“You think I’m sharing these with you?” Steph guffawed. “No! These are _my_ waffles!”

Damian knit his brows like he thought she was kidding—like she would kid about _waffles_ —and then it hit her.

Alfred was just awful at making waffles. It was amazing how someone who was so good at cooking could be so bad at cooking waffles of all things. She’d suspect personal spite, but according to the older boys, he’d been awful even since their time. Maybe it was just because he never ate them himself. Or maybe it was being British or something.

“Have you ever had waffles from anyone but Alfred?”

“Why would I touch an inferior version of a disgusting food?” Damian snapped.

Steph’s heart melted just a little bit at the fact that Damian thought that Alfred’s food was superior to all others, and at the fact that the kid had never had a good waffle in his life.

She considered. The green light on the waffle machine came on, indicating that it was done.

It was _her_ waffle. Hers. She had put up with Damian’s murder attempts all day, and there was still a week until Bruce and Alfred came back. Dick was in space until his mission was done, which could be anywhere from that afternoon to three months in the future, so _she_ was stuck with the murder demon.

But…

“You know…” Steph hated herself so much. “…Alfred is amazing. He can do so many amazing things, and he’s a really good cook, but no one’s ever had the heart to tell him that his waffles are terrible.”

Steph heaved a sigh without looking behind her, got out a plate, and scorched her fingertips flipping a perfectly golden waffle onto the plate. She spread butter on top of it, letting it melt into pools in the dips of the waffle before she doused the whole thing in syrup.

She sighed again. “Do you want to try a real waffle?”

She turned around and placed the plate on the island.

Damian stared at it with suspicious eyes. The kitchen clock echoed in the silence.

Steph huffed. “You know, if you’re not going to eat it, hurry up and decide, because it’s getting cold and _I’ll_ eat it.”

Damian scowled at her. “Give me a fork, Brown.”

Steph rolled her eyes and didn’t bother asking for a _please._ She reoiled the iron, poured in another scoop of batter, then got a fork from the drawer and placed it on the plate. A knife would be good too, but she was _not_ giving him a knife.

Damian considered another moment before he pulled the plate closer to him and used the fork to cut himself off one tiny corner of the waffle. He squinted at it, then slowly touched it with his tongue.

That was actually kind of cute.

Evidentially deciding that it wasn’t awful, or maybe he thought she’d filled it with arsenic or laxatives, Damian put the bite into his mouth and bit down.

His eyes widened, and he quickly cut himself another bite.

Stephanie hid a smile and turned back to the waffle iron. Maybe he _wasn’t_ completely irredeemable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfred canonically cannot make waffles.
> 
> I accidentally called it a tire iron.


	6. Bruce and Jason, ABO

There was a teddy bear sitting on Bruce’s desk when he walked into the office that morning that hadn't been there when he’d gone to bed.

Bruce smiled at it and took it in his hands. It was soft and fuzzy, with brown eyes and fur as black as Jason’s hair, and just the right size for a young omega pup.

It smelled of Jason, too, a gentle, soothed scent that Bruce only rarely smelled on Jason while he was awake. No wonder Jason had returned it.

Bruce rolled up his sleeve and turned out of his office, rubbing the scent gland on his wrist over the bear and projecting _protective-possessive-strong_ alpha pheromones into his scent so that when Jason curled up with the bear that night, he would be reminded of just who was protecting him and just how strong his new father was.

Jason was nowhere to be found as Bruce walked through the halls and up the stairs to Jason’s bedroom, and he didn’t reply when Bruce knocked on the door, so Bruce took a deep breath and the liberty of opening the door. He’d done his best to respect his frightened baby omega’s space, but the bear belonged in Jason’s nest, and Jason was probably down at breakfast anyway.

Jason groaned sleepily and raised his head to glare at Bruce. Or, well, in Bruce’s general direction. He was actually glaring at the wall a couple feet to Bruce’s left, but it was a close thing. Jason was still in his pajamas, and Bruce didn’t know if Jason had left the bear on the desk last night sometime after Bruce had gone to bed instead of just coming into Bruce’s room to _ask_ him to rescent the bear, or if Jason had fallen back asleep after putting the bear on the desk that morning.

Bruce held up the bear, and Jason’s expression turned from weary anger to bleary joy. He held out one hand for it, which Bruce took as permission to enter the room.

He hadn't actually been in this guest room since he’d given it to Jason seven months ago. Jason had been so skittish, still could be sometimes, that Bruce had been scared that one wrong move would send him running back to the streets.

The room had changed so much. There were piles of books everywhere—next time Bruce came in, he was building a bookshelf for his little bookworm—the contents of a backpack strewn across a desk, clothes scattered around the room, and, most importantly, a little pup curled up in a nest in a huge bed.

“Hey, Jaylad,” Bruce said as he held out the bear.

Jason hmmed in satisfaction and snatched the bear to his chest, burying his nose deep into it before melting in satisfaction.

Bruce’s heart melted too. His scent was enough to make Jason feel safe now, when a few months ago, it had set Jason constantly on edge.

Jason settled immediately back down, and his breathing evened out once more. Bruce didn’t think he’d been truly awake to begin with.

Bruce wanted to photograph the moment and preserve it forever. Jason looked so sweet and peaceful in his sleep, and so cute clutching a bear with Bruce’s scent in one hand and a cat with Alfred’s scent in the other, all while sleeping in a nest made out of blankets and stolen clothes.

Jason would call him a creep later if he ever saw it, though, and might really mean it too.

But Jason was sleeping at the moment, so he couldn’t stop Bruce from staying just a few minutes longer to commit every detail to memory.


	7. Dick and Dami, cuddle pollen

Damian was not enjoying himself. He was _not_. It was simply Isley’s pollen— _cuddle_ pollen, Grayson had called it—that had him boneless in the Grayson’s hold as the woman on the screen screamed about letting things go while shedding her warmest garment in the midst of a blizzard. Damian had not been paying enough attention to know what purpose her actions served.

Grayson tightened his hold briefly, then lay back with a contented sigh, taking Damian with him. Under normal circumstances, Damian would have stabbed him for the _nerve_ …well…perhaps not _stabbed_ , or at the very least, not stabbed _fatally_. After all, Grayson was a satisfactory Batman to hold the name and the legacy of fear in the heart of Gotham’s criminals until Damian took the role.

And Grayson was…a satisfactory Batman to serve under in his own right.

“You know, we should get hit with Ivy’s pollen more often,” Grayson suggested, the _fool_.

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “It is a sign of our failure that we have been rendered so useless. How you must relish in your defeat to enjoy this.”

Grayson hummed in pleasant disagreement. “Ah, but Dami. If we weren’t hit, I wouldn’t get to hold you.”

“And it is such a blessing to hold me?” Damian snorted.

He could not piece together any reason for Grayson to be behaving thus. It wasn’t simply the pollen, either, he frequently attempted to touch Damian softly and gently. It offered neither of them any benefit…aside from the traitorous spot of warmth those touches kindled.

Grayson _kissed_ the back of Damian’s head. “Yes, actually. Yes, it is.”

Damian scoffed, but slumped in the hold to satisfy the pollen. “I don’t understand you.”

“Hmmm, but I love you,” Grayson told him simply.

Damian tried not to let his stiffening show.

He had been many things in his life. Feared. Dreaded. An object of pride.

He did not know if he had ever been _loved_.

“That is a weakness,” Damian whispered, remembering every lesson he’d ever been taught.

“No, Dami,” Grayson said, a firmer edge of seriousness in his voice. “That’s our _strength_.”


	8. Jason and Bruce, testing

The dark mound of shadows uncurled, and Jason’s frozen heart leapt into flight, pounding wildly against his ribs. His fingers curled against the doorframe, but he had to know. It had been weeks— _two weeks_ —and Bruce had done _nothing_. Jason couldn’t handle it anymore. He needed to _know_. He needed to know _now_ what Bruce wanted from him… _if_ he wanted something. He’d given things to men before for food or a place to sleep for the night, but they’d always just _gotten it over with_. No john had ever made him wait so _long_ to know what he had to do _._

The silhouette of a head raised from the bed, and Jason’s swallowed hard. He could still run. Bruce wasn’t going to force him into his bed, or, at least, he hadn't _yet_ , but it didn’t seem his style. If Jason ran, Bruce would probably let him go for the night.

“Jason?” Bruce yawned. “Are you alright?”

Jason nodded wordlessly, but Bruce must have been able to see enough of him outlined by the light coming from the hall to get the message.

“Then…” Bruce paused and stared at him for several long moments.

Jason would have thought he’d gone back to sleep if Bruce didn’t suddenly pull back the blankets in a silent invitation.

Jason’s throat tightened, and he blinked back tears. It had been a stupid hope that Bruce— _Batman,_ the _hero_ —wouldn’t want him. Batman was, in the end, a man, and men only ever wanted Jason for one thing. He could still run, but the invitation had been made clear, and Jason had practically already said yes just opening his door.

And then Bruce would be mad at him. If Jason wasn’t paying his dues, then he was going to be tossed back onto the streets, and he didn’t want to go. Not after getting used to warm food, and so much, and Alfred, and the library, and a soft bed all for him most nights. Jason could do it. It didn’t matter that Jason had never felt smaller than in Bruce’s presence. It didn’t matter how much Jason had prayed. Nothing mattered except living, and there was only one way to do that.

Jason tried not to drag his feet too much as he crossed the room and stopped just a second beside Bruce’s bed before climbing up.

Bruce laid back down, and Jason followed his lead. He had to choke down vomit, but then he shifted a closer and closer until his cheek just barely touched Bruce’s chest.

Bruce rolled onto his side, the whole bed shifting with the weight and gravity of Bruce Wayne. Jason’s eyes stung fiercely, but it was dark, so Bruce wouldn’t be able to see the tears fall as he snaked a massive arm around Jason’s body and pulled his back up against his chest.

And stayed there.

Jason listened in shock as Bruce’s breathing started to deepen and even out. There was no way…Bruce had just gone to sleep? But no one had ever turned him down. There was no _way._

But Bruce…Bruce wasn’t touching him.

Bruce _still_ wasn’t touching him.

Like he hadn't at all.

Hope, bright and traitorous, flared in his chest. Could…when Bruce had said that Jason was safe…had he meant it?


	9. Home Again

Her throat was tight as she hesitated in front of the door. The gate had been a slight challenge to bypass, and the door would have been _difficult_ , but not impossible, to get through without setting off any alarms.

Still, she had been raised with manners, even though she had long since realized how pointless most of them were, and she would not barge into someone else’s house.

Well. Without proper justification, at least.

She swallowed firmly and pressed a finger to the doorbell.

She couldn’t hear the chime through the thick walls, but a minute or so later, the lock clicked, and the door opened.

She froze.

The boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen, was too pale, with dark bags under his eyes and silky black hair was swept back into the tiniest of a ponytail. His violet blue eyes looked her up and down inquisitively. So precious. So _familiar_ , and yet something she never got to have.

“Yes?” the boy asked.

It took her another moment for her to snap from her reverie, and another to sort through the relevant information. _I’ve been teleported from another dimension and I need to get home. I’ve been shot and have lost at least a pint of blood. You need to rethink your security_.

“You’re Bruce Wayne’s son,” she breathed instead.

He blinked at her. “Um…yes?”

She stepped forward in numb shock, one hand raised as though if she could just _touch_ him, she could steal him away, absorb this universe’s timeline and take it back to her own world. Her heart ached deeply, even deeper than it had when she’d first seen that little face all grown up like he should have been allowed to on the television screen through the store window.

His gaze sharpened and he stepped back. “Who are you?”

 _Of course he would be suspicious of a strange woman breaking through his gate and trying to touch him,_ she scolded herself and forced herself to take a step back. A _small_ step back.

“I need to speak with your father,” she said hoarsely.

If he had followed the same course she had, which she could only assume he had, given the existence of the Bat _man,_ then he would be her best chance of getting home.

There were…other reasons. Painful reasons to see him.

The boy nodded slowly, skeptically, and stepped away from the door to let her in. Judging by his height and stature, he was probably the one they called Red Robin. He probably believed that he could take her in a fight, but she would at least be able to give him a run for Bruce’s money even with her injury.

The foyer—she couldn’t bring herself to look around it, to compare as she stepped inside. The brief glance was too similar, too different, and it hurt too much.

“Everyone's in the dining room,” the boy said. She could feel his gaze heavy on her as they walked, even though he only watched her from the corner of his eye.

She nodded with a deep breath to fortify herself. _Thirty years_. Thirty _years_. He was only steps away.

“I see. Thank you very much…” She trailed off with a questioning lift to the sentence.

“I’m Tim,” he answered, a polite society smile plastering onto his features without him even seeming to notice. “And you are?”

“Martha.” Her smile was strained at best. “Martha Wayne.”


	10. Jason and Tim, sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Envy's had a long day.

The Replacement’s house was disappointingly easy to sneak into. He hadn't just been replaced, he’d been replaced with an idiot. Nice to know that Bruce had dropped his standards of the kids he’d drag into his sanctimonious war on crime.

Once he was in, it was a simple matter to track down the Replacement’s bedroom—it was the only one with the door open in the upstairs hallway, since his father and stepmother were out of town. They seemed to do that a lot.

Jason considered his options as he twirled his knife. Let Drake hear him? Let him _know_ what was coming? Or snatch him from his bed without letting him even have the appearance of a chance? The edges of his vision glowed green in vicious pleasure as he weighed the pros and cons.

Jason pushed the door just the slightest bit farther open, then slipped silently into the room.

Drake was sprawled out on his back, breathing so noisily that Jason barely even had to be quiet, which was good, because the bedroom was a fucking _disaster_. Goddammit, had no one ever taught the kid how to _clean?_

Drake didn’t wake up even when Jason stood right above him and basked in the glory of having bested his fucking little Replacement and proved so easily that Bruce had made a _terrible_ decision.

Jason chuckled darkly to himself and bent down, wrapping his hand around Drake’s throat. He’d squeeze tight until the Replacement couldn’t breathe, then yank him out of bed—

…The Replacement was kind of hot, and not in the way that he shot people for thinking about kids.

Jason pressed the back of his hand against Drake’s forehead and frowned. He was burning up. Sweaty. Thin and frail in a way he’d never looked in the newspapers or the surveillance photos. He looked…

…The Replacement did _not_ remind him of his mother when she’d been real bad. Not at all. It was just the fact that if Jason was going to kill the kid, he wanted Drake to at least be _aware_ of who was killing him and why. Drake hadn't even woken up with all the manhandling Jason had done, so Jason’s plan had already gone to shit.

Jason was just going to leave. He’d come back later, and beat the shit out of the Replacement then.

As he was turning to go, he noticed that the light was on in the ensuite bathroom.

He considered.

Drake’s fever was _really_ high, and it wouldn’t be very satisfying to beat a kid with brain damage from a prolonged high fever, and it wouldn’t really take _that_ long…

Jason sighed, picked his way through the room to the bathroom, and hunted around inside until he found a clean washcloth. He wet it with cool water, then went back to Drake’s bedside, folded it in half, and laid it over his forehead.

There, he was done.

Jason frowned and turned back to the kid.

He was dressed in sweatpants, socks, and a sweatshirt. It looked like a post-patrol outfit, probably donned before the Replacement walked back to his own house in the chilly November air.

Okay, _fine._ If he didn’t want the Replacement to overheat, those probably had to go.

Jason huffed in annoyance and grabbed the hem of the sweatshirt, yanking it over Drake’s head none to gently. He tossed the disgustingly sweat garment onto the disgustingly trashed floor—he was sensing a pattern—and then undid the drawstring on the pants, hoping and praying that Drake wasn’t going commando, and pulled them off.

Boxers. Jason had never been more glad to see underwear.

Jason tossed the pants to the side and started walking to the door.

But really, Tim could probably use some ibuprofen. That had to be around there somewhere, right?

It took Jason ten minutes to find the pills, in the older Drake’s medicine cabinet apparently, and then he had to go all the way downstairs to get a cup from the kitchen, both of which took forever to find, and then he had to go all the way _back_ up the stairs and through the halls to Tim’s bedroom. He had to push the pills into Tim’s mouth and then pour water in slowly until the younger boy swallowed reflexively.

Alright. Cool cloth, clothes off, pills and cold water. Jason was _done._

But a lukewarm bath would probably help…

Tim blinked awake slowly, feeling like crap, but significantly better than he’d thought he was going to feel when he’d realized right before he fell asleep that he was getting sick. He had only a slight fever, and…

Tim pulled at the loose tee he was wearing. He hadn't been wearing that before. His underwear under the shorts he also hadn't fallen asleep in were also oddly damp, and all the way around, not just like he’d had an embarrassing and uncharacteristic accident.

What the—

Tim had to blink twice, look away, then look back to be sure, but _yes,_ that was Red Hood, passed out in Tim’s desk chair with his red helmet clunked against the desk.

What the hell?


	11. Jason and Tim, cuddle pollen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Envy has had a long _weekend_.

“If you don’t _stop rubbing my back,_ ” Jason growled in his ear, and Tim would have elbowed him in the gut if he could only manage to pry his hands away from Jason’s body.

“Maybe _you_ should stop petting my hair,” Tim snapped, trying to pretend that he wasn’t as absolutely terrified as he was.

Bruce was out of town, and _yes_ , Tim wasn’t supposed to try to fight any of the Rogues alone, but it was just _Ivy,_ and it wasn’t like he could ask her, _oh, hey, mind holding off on the wanton destruction of these factories where hundreds of people work to feed their families so they don’t have to turn to crime. Just until Batman gets back! :D_ And so, yeah, he’d fought Ivy, and he had at least managed to stop her. He would have been able to bring her in, too, except Red Hood had come in, guns-ablazing, and screwed him up. He’d still managed to knock Ivy out, but not before he and Jason were hit with some strange pollen.

Tim had wiped the pollen from his goggles and looked up—and his eyes fell on Jason the same moment Jason looked at him, and like ducklings with their mom, they had _imprinted._

They hadn't been able to let go of each other ever since, and _worse,_ they hadn't been able to stop _cuddling_ each other. Jason had pulled back for a punch and ended up pulling Tim into a hug. Tim had tried to jab him in the kidneys, but sagged his head against Jason’s shoulder with a contented sigh instead.

It was _hell_.

Jason had eventually grabbed Tim, princess carried him to his nearest safehouse, and bunkered down to ride out the pollen. If that was even a thing.

Oh, god. If the pollen didn’t _stop_ until you had an antidote…

Tim heaved a sigh and slouched against Jason’s hugely muscular arm that was holding him in Jason’s lap, trying to burn through the drug by channeling his utter terror, but the pollen took the edge off of the terror. Tim’s heavy eyes stung with tears.

The last time they’d been this close to each other, Jason had slit his throat. If the pollen _did_ wear off, it would wear off Jason first. They’d been the same distance from the pollen, gotten the same amount hit, but Jason was twice the size of Tim. As soon as the pollen wore off, Jason was going to kill Tim, slowly and painfully, and all Tim would be able to do would be to desperately try to hug him.

Jason’s rough callouses caught on Tim’s hair as they stroked quickly through, but at least Jason’s fingers had already tugged out all the knots in Tim’s hair directly from his head—intentional, almost certainly—and…Tim could really fall asleep.

But no! He had to stay awake!

But…

Tim yawned and pulled his knees up to his chest, his body and will totally disconnected. Jason was so warm and solid. He wouldn’t hurt Tim.

Jason bit out curse after curse, but he wrapped his arms around Tim and hugged him tightly to his chest. It didn’t even hurt. Maybe the pollen was making Jason safer than before, or maybe he was getting tired like Tim.

“I’m going to fucking kill you once this is over,” Jason snarled, but there wasn’t very much force to it. He sounded too worn out to justify real murderous intent.

There was the slightest scrape of a cheap window protesting against being raised somewhere farther in the safe house. They both kind of tensed, but weren’t able to muster more than vague grumblings of dissatisfaction.

There was silence, and then Jason’s hand was petting his hair again, weaving through the strands absently.

There was a slight choking sound, then hysterical laughter. Jason flinched.

“Oh my god,” Dick snorted on a laugh. “B called me in to save you from _Snuggles?_ ”

“What?” Jason snapped, but Tim’s heart beat faster with wild hope.

Nightwing stumbled into the room, clutching his sides and bent nearly double as the laughs continued to shake him. “You know, that sounds exactly like him.”

Dick finally managed to get his laughter under control and cross the room to Tim. Tim wanted to hold out his hands to be rescued, but Jason was so _warm,_ and the idea of leaving him was both exactly what he wanted and absolutely terrifying at the same time. Jason’s arm curled a little tighter around him even as Jason glared at his own offending limb.

Apparently, that didn’t matter. Dick shifted Tim a bit, but instead of picking him up, he just cleared Jason’s other leg and dropped down, tossing his legs over Tim’s so that he was on top of all of them.

Jason growled. “What are you doing?”

Dick smiled _that_ smile at him. That perfect, nasty smile that promised that you were going to do what he wanted or else.

“I’m cuddling you.”

“Get _off_.”

Dick laughed and threw his head back against Jason’s shoulder. “If I do that, then I’m going to have to message B. He’ll want a picture to prove Tim is fine, you know. Luckily, I already took one.”

The threat was clear.

Jason snarled.

Tim groaned.

Dick hugged them both, the traitor.


	12. Tim and Jason - bath time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby Jay and Baby Tim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ex!

Jason tried to loosen the tension in his shoulders—Tim wasn’t going to hurt him. It wasn’t like he was even naked, since Tim had found a pair of swim trunks for him to wear, but sitting so exposed in an environment so unfamiliar while he was so vulnerable made his skin crawl.

Tim was chatting happily, but it was going in one ear and out the other as the younger boy’s fingernails scrabbled over his scalp, snagging on mats and tangles without seeming to notice. Jason could feel how thick the lather was getting with the oil and dirt in his hair, caked in from two years of washing in the rain or sponge baths in public bathrooms even though Tim had already scrubbed his hair and rinsed it once.

Jason took a deep breath as quietly as he could and hugged his right arm up against his chest, tracing the edge of the plaster cast through the garbage bag, resisting the urge to dig his fingers through the plastic to take of the edge off his nerves.

Tim stood up and ran around to the front of the tub. “Can you put your head under the faucet?”

Jason’s throat tightened, but he edged forward slowly and lowered his head and stuck it under the faucet like he’d been told. Tim turned the water on and let it run over Jason’s head, starting out as icy frigid as the snow outside but almost unbearably scalding by the time Tim turned it off.

Tim trotted around to the other side of the tub again, rather chipper for a kid who was still sporting the bruises from a mugging, and grabbed a bottle of conditioner. Jason inched back over to Tim and his spindly little fingers.

Tim spent a long time on Jason’s hair, using his fingers and then a comb to tease out some of the tangles. It probably wasn’t any longer than ten minutes, but ten minutes of a nine-year-old attacking your hair with a comb and all the grace of a bull in a china shop seemed like an eternity. By the end, Jason’s hair wasn’t perfect—it wasn’t even that good, since he could _feel_ some of the mats still clinging to his head—but Tim apparently couldn’t tell or just gave up, because he had Jason put his head under the faucet again.

Just when the water turned blistering, Tim turned off the water again.

“I’ll get you a towel!” Tim chirped, then skipped off, nearly slipped on a puddle from his own dripping hands which was so annoying because Jason had _just saved him and he was going to break his neck falling on a bathroom floor_ , but the kid recovered and returned a minute later with a big fluffy towel.

Jason stood slowly, angling himself carefully to pull himself up on the edge of the tub, but accepted Tim’s hand to step over the side.

Tim threw the towel over Jason’s shoulders, and Jason dried himself off as best as he could with only one working hand because he wasn’t letting the kid do _that_ for him, but it wasn’t like it even matter since the kid had run off again anyway.

Jason squeezed the thick fabric with white knuckles and tried to even his breathing. It was fine that he was in a house in Bristol. Tim’s parents weren’t even _there_ , so it wasn’t like they were going to be able to hurt Jason or anything, and Tim wasn’t a threat.

So what was it that had his heart racing at a million miles an hour when he was finally safe for the first time in years, off the streets, washed and fed, and about to sleep in a real bed instead of a pile of damp cardboard and moldy blankets? Even his broken arm didn’t hurt that badly since Dr. Thompkins had convinced him to take pain medicine for at least the first couple of days—he’d only accepted because if the kid _had_ been lying about letting Jason come live with him as repayment for getting his arm broken trying to save Tim from a mugging, then Jason was going to be stuck on the streets with a major weakness and would have to be as aware as he possibly could be to fight off anyone who’d take advantage of that—and Tim had said that he was going to find Jason some clean clothes, so…

So, for the first time since his mom died, Jason had something to lose.

Jason let out a slow breath and tried to relax. He didn’t know how long it was going to be before Tim got tired of him and kicked him out, or before his parents returned and sent him to foster care, but he did know that he’d lost a lot of weight on the streets, and he hadn't slept well the entire time he’d been on the streets, not to mention how _cold_ it was out when your clothes were worn thin and filled with holes.

It was going to hurt to go back to empty stomachs and freezing nights, waiting for an enemy at any moment, but for _now_ , he was going to get ready for that.

Tim hopped back into the room with that huge bright grin of his. He clearly thought they were just having some kind of sleepover without ever considering just how dangerous it was to let a stranger into his house with all his nice shit lying all over the place.

That smile should have driven Jason crazy, but…it was a bit…endearing.

Tim snapped a pair of scissors, and Jason took them to cut himself out of the bag wrapped around his cast. He handed the scissors back to Tim and took the pile of clothes from Tim’s hands.

He had to give Tim a prompting look a moment before Tim got the message with a slight blush. “Oh, I’ll, uh. Y’know. Let you get dressed. And to bed. Um, this is your bedroom—” referring to the _giant_ bedroom they’d walked through to get to the ridiculously large attached bathroom “—so I hope you sleep well?”

Tim’s small fist tightened around the scissors, and he bit his lip like there was something more he wanted to say, but he dragged himself to the bathroom door anyway.

Tim stopped in the doorframe, and he turned back with his brow knit in horribly concealed anxiety. “You—I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Tim stared at him with so much hope and resignation that Jason was forced to revise his opinion that Tim was just a naïve little kid who thought he’d found a friend.

He was a _lonely_ naïve little kid who thought he’d found a friend.

Tim needed a friend, and if it wasn’t, he was going to find someone else, someone else who might see that innocence and kindness as something to be warped and used for all Tim was worth, financially, materially…sexually. Tim was vulnerable for every reason that should have kept him safe.

Dammit, Jason was going to have to keep an eye on the kid, wasn’t he?


	13. Jason and Tim, headache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Envy.

Tim had a killer headache.

It was probably Bruce’s fault.

It might have been Dick’s.

It could have even been the fact that he hadn't slept in three days and didn’t even remember the last time he’d had a transparent beverage or decaffeinated coffee because of the stupid case he’d been working on, but it was probably Bruce. Bruce was easy to blame things on, since he liked blaming himself so much anyway.

Tim rubbed his temples and clenched his eyelid. He’d taken an ibuprofen, but he had a bad feeling that that wasn’t going to be enough this time.

“What’s got you looking so constipated, Replacement?”

_Speaking of headaches._

Tim opened one eye and glared at Jason. Normally, the library was out of the way enough that no one would bother him if he wanted to lie down for a moment since no one would be able to find him. Well, Alfred could find him because Alfred knew everything, but Alfred thought he needed more sleep and would never let anyone disturb him for at least ten hours.

Jason raised a mocking eyebrow. “Too good to answer me?”

Tim closed his eyes. They’d gotten past active attempts at Jason murdering Tim, which was pretty much enough for him and Jason, even though Bruce was still upset that Jason wouldn’t put up with them long enough to come home.

Actually, why _was_ Jason home?

Probably to torture Tim again.

Deciding that he didn’t really care, he just grumbled, “My head hurts.”

Jason snorted, the sound ringing around in Tim’s sore head. He barely suppressed a groan.

“I see. And you’re lounging around on _my_ couch because…” Jason trailed off as he strode over to a bookshelf and grabbed a book without even pausing to browse. _Pride and Prejudice_. Huh. _Not_ what Tim would have expected from him, but Jason was probably just getting it because it was thick and hardcovered so it would make a good bludgeon.

Tim didn’t take the bait—he’d just take what was given to him and die at this point—but Jason didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to be ignoring Tim’s existence entirely.

 _Oh crap, he really means it’s his couch_ , Tim thought just in time to lunge forward before Jason dropped right onto the cushion where Tim’s head had been just a second earlier.

Tim _did_ groan that time at the effort of swinging his achy head forward so fast. He slumped forward with his face landing between his knees, completely lacking the energy or will it would take to get up and move to another location, or even just to get up and lie down on the floor.

There was a hush for just one blissful second before Jason decided he had to break the one last good thing Tim had in his life.

“You really do have a headache,” Jason said, like it hadn't _occurred—_

Ouch.

Thinking too hard hurt, so he wasn’t going to do that again, but he _wasn’t happy_ with Jason either.

“You’re not looking so great,” Jason observed, a slight strained edge to his voice.

Tim wanted to tell him to change his vigilante name to Captain _Fucking_ Obvious, but everything hurt too much and obscenities were frowned on in the hero world.

There was another pause before Jason whispered, “You look strung out.”

Tim frowned as deeply as he could before that just made everything hurt more—he barely twitched his eyebrows—and tried to process that softness in Jason’s voice. That was…unexpected. Tim wasn’t sure what that meant. Quick death, or long torture?

There was a hovering presence right above his back for a moment before Jason’s gloved fingers closed around the back of his neck and pulled him backwards. Tim flailed just a moment before giving up. Even if he died, he’d probably come back sometime before Alfred’s Sunday morning crepes.

Jason lowered Tim oddly slowly until Tim’s head was resting on Jason’s thighs.

Tim opened his eyes just to blink up at Jason in confusion.

Jason scowled down at him. “Shut up and go to sleep, shrimp.”

Tim frowned at him, replaying the incidents leading up to…whatever was going on.

 _You’re not looking so great_.

_You look strung—_

Oh, great, Tim had managed to trigger Jason’s trauma of watching his mother die a slow and terrible death. Wonderful.

…Except Jason wasn’t killing him for it…

Tim relaxed deliberately, just to see what Jason would do.

A large hand came up, hesitating just a moment before settling on the top of Tim’s head. It felt weird, heavy and slightly unhuman with the glove cutting off all warmth, but then the fingers worked themselves into Tim’s hair and started petting.

Tim melted before he could stop himself as Jason kept stroking, fingers half massaging Tim’s head and half combing the tangles that had accumulated while he’d been busy out of Tim’s hair. Tim couldn’t tell if his headache was actually getting any better or if he just had something better to focus on and distract himself, but it felt like he’d died and gone to heaven.

If Jason really had killed him, he wouldn’t even have been mad if this was the result.

“Mmmm,” Tim mumbled in thanks.

Jason made an uncomfortable grumbling squeak in response. “Just go to sleep, Replacement.” Tim was pretty sure he heard a _and don’t remember this in the morning_ tagged on, but, for once, Jason had given him what sounded like _very_ good advice.

He closed his eyes and—

Oh, _god_ , that felt good.

Never mind, head pets now, sleep later. He had to enjoy this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My younger second cousins are in town, and I've never met them before, so it was really neat to meet them. It's also been very funny, because the oldest is eight, and she has imprinted on my sister and I like a duckling. She does have favorites though.
> 
> Cousin, interrupting a swordfight between me and my sister to determine who would be the bodyguard to the young princess: *grabs my sister* *points at me* I like how you look better *points at little sister* but I like her personality more
> 
> She also thinks like I look like the head witch from Witches. I haven't seen the movie, but I'm pretty sure that witch isn't blonde and polka dotted like me.


	14. Alfred and Tim, late night visit

There was a rather abrupt knock on the door, odd for it being three in the morning.

Alfred frowned. The knock was coming from quite low on the door, but anyone could knock low…however, if there was a child in need who had by some miracle managed to get past the security system, Alfred supposed that a delay would be in poor form, especially if he came back with his shotgun.

He opened the door—and looked down.

And down some more.

Their visitor was rather small.

Their visitor was a _child_ , all alone and dressed in only thin pajamas, no shoes. While it wasn’t freezing yet, the temperature had been trending that way.

“Come inside,” Alfred bid the child, who quickly scampered inside with a shiver. 

“Thank you, sir,” the little boy said, tone thick with gratefulness. “I was just wondering, is Mr. Wayne home?”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. _No,_ Mr. Wayne was not home, and that explained nothing of the child’s state. “May I ask why?”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Catwoman’s robbing my house. And I know that they’re _friends_ —”

Alfred nearly choked. “Master Bruce and Catwoman are… _friends_?”

It was quite a deal more than that, Alfred knew, but he didn’t know how the child would have the slightest inclination.

“Of course,” the boy said, because…of course. “Bruce Wayne is dating Selina Kyle, and _Batman_ is dating—”

There was a pause.

The boy froze.

Alfred stared.

The boy took a deep breath, then a large step back towards the door. “You know, I think my parents can actually live without a vase or two. I’ll just, go—”

Alfred placed a hand on the young boy’s shoulder, firmly, but not roughly, and gave a small squeeze.

“Why don’t we call Master Bruce and let him deal with the situation while the two of us _talk_?” Alfred suggested.

The boy looked like he was going to resist, then grumbled something in that petulant tone little boys growing into men are so fond of before his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Yes, Mr. Pennyworth.”


	15. Damian and Tim, injury

Damian stood loosely without giving any indication that he was in pain. It was...difficult to keep himself from pressing down on the wound to stop the blood, but luckily none of them had noticed yet. Father truly was the world’s greatest detective, but even a detective could be fooled if he didn’t know to look for the mystery.

It had been foolish and weak of him to let a petty _thug_ get the best of him, however briefly. One moment of weakness could mean death, and excluding that, it would mean falling out of his tentative favor with his father.

His father’s rules had been what had gotten him so injured in the first place. Ten men twice his size had never been enough to best him until now—not only did he have to abstain from killing anyone, he _also_ had to protect that insufferable sobbing woman the whole time.

Damian’s mother had always pushed him, though, giving him handicaps in practice fights to make him stronger when the moment came to use his skills on the field. He’d always won for her. He would not let his father know that he had lost.

So he kept standing there, features composed, until his father had dismissed him. Walking up the stairs was torture, but Father had dismissed _Drake_ at the same time as Damian, so his rival was right behind him. Damian not only had to go up the stairs first—half because Drake had learned not to let Damian at his back and half to prove to Drake that Damian had nothing to fear with Drake out of his sight—but he had to move at his standard speed, not so fast that Drake became suspicious, and not slow enough to accommodate the pain.

They’d made it all the way into Father’s study before Damian felt Drake’s presence shift forward suddenly.

Damian spun, drawing his knife in the same motion, and planted his feet as solidly as he could with a fierce snarl.

Drake had the _gall_ to look startled, but he wasn’t looking at Damian’s face. He wasn’t even looking at the _knife,_ dammit! He was looking at…Damian’s side.

“You’re hurt,” Drake said.

Ice ran down Damian’s neck, and he spared the swiftest glance down.

His blood had dripped to the floor and was already staining the rug.

“What of it?” Damian snapped imperiously, doing his best to hide the panic.

 _He knows, he knows, he knows._ Drake could use the knowledge against him, either for blackmail or as a club to show Father Damian’s weakness. That was what Damian would have done if the situations were reversed, and Damian could only hope that Drake would choose blackmail. Damian was well aware that he was the only apprentice his father had not chosen, and it was only his skills and his place as the blood son that had moved him to keep Damian at his side. If his skills came into doubt, was his lineage enough to persuade his father to keep him? He was not just his father’s blood, but also his mother’s. Also his grandfather’s.

Damian was half son, half enemy.

Drake lifted his eyes and stared at Damian incredulously. “So go get yourself _treated_ , gremlin!”

Damian scoffed. “I have no need of treatment—” where anyone could see, at least “—and I am not _injured._ It is not my blood.”

Drake rolled his eyes, not buying Damian’s lie. “Is this a League thing? Go get yourself patched up before you get any more blood on Alfred’s carpets.”

Damian bristled, not only at the insult to himself, but also to the sleight against his father. “They are _Father’s_ carpets, not _Pennyworth’s_.”

Drake snorted with a _grin_ of all things. “Hah! No. They’re Alfred’s carpets.”

The sheer _nerve_ Drake had to insinuate such a _lie_ —

Damian took a step forward, and his vision turned black for just a second.

It was a second too long. Before he could bring himself back from the darkness and the roar of blood in his ears, Drake’s hands were on him, twisting the knife from Damian’s limp fingers and tossing it aside.

Damian rallied enough to get an elbow into Drake’s stomach, but it was a mere annoyance with how little strength Damian was able to put behind it. The terror pounding in his heart was dripping out of the knife wound on his side, leaving him weak and useless. Drake would not kill him, but he could do worse. He could tell Father.

“Yeah, yeah, mighty one. You’re not allowed to die on us just yet.”

Damian growled with the last of his strength, and then everything went black.


	16. Jason, Leslie, and Bruce - ABO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, after finally responding to all 200+ comments: FINALLYFINALLYFINALLY!!!!!  
> Me, five seconds later: wait, now I have no comments  
> Me, trying to write something: wait, I have no _comments_
> 
> Comments are writing fuel. A very sincere thank you so much to everyone who reads/comments/leaves kudos/bookmarks. Knowing that something I made makes someone else happy is so addicting, and that is 100% behind all of my updates. Replying to so many comments really made me really appreciate again how much I love writing for you all.

“Everything’s alright, Jason,” Dr. Leslie promised, gently swiping his cheek with the wet sponge with one hand as her other combed through his tangly hair as best it could.

The cold water felt like heaven on Jason’s burning skin for a brief second before it evaporated and left him just as feverish as before, but the _touch_ was breathtaking. His heightened sense of touch tracked every brush of her skin on his, every drag of her fingernails across his scalp, the warm _presence_ of another human being who didn’t want to hurt him or use him for what they could get from him. Dr. Leslie’s muted beta scent was strong but tender. It wasn’t as comforting his dad’s fiercely protective alpha scent, but if any alpha who wasn’t his dad had tried to touch him like that while he was in heat…

Dr. Leslie put the sponge back in the bucket and stepped away.

Jason keened and leaned forward, the sanitary paper crinkling under the warm blanket he’d been given to nest with as he reached for her. Dr. Leslie jerked and caught him by the shoulder before he could spill off the side of the table.

“You want someone to nest with you?” she asked, gently pushing him back into the middle of his nest, but she didn’t try to leave again.

Under any other circumstance, Jason would be flushing in embarrassment, but as it was, he was flushing from a biological cycle that made him extremely vulnerable to every kind of pain, and it wouldn’t be long before his reason slipped into a peak heat daze. He was in Dr. Leslie’s clinic, yes, but he was also in _Gotham._ He was in _Crime Alley_. He was in the only place bad guys could go if they got hurt, and if they smelled him, then they could steal him away and hurt him forever, but no one would be dumb enough to attack Dr. Leslie. They needed her too much, so she had to _stay,_ and she had to pet his hair and touch him and keep smelling so nice and soft…

Dr. Leslie sighed and awkwardly positioned herself until she could half-sit on the narrow table with him. Jason’s scent flooded with _safe-relieved,_ and though he had to turn almost all the way around, which was super difficult on such a small surface while his insides were also trying to tie themselves in knots and his skin was boiling, he snuggled up next to her and pillowed his head on her thigh so she could pet him again.

Dr. Leslie sighed again, but more fondly, the fondness reflected in her scent as she pet him again just like he wanted.

“It’s quiet right now,” she told him quietly, her voice nearly a purr, “but if something too big shows up, I’m going to have to leave.”

Jason whined in displeasure and shook his head. She needed to stay and protect him!

“You’re going to be safe, Jason,” Dr. Leslie promised.

How? She had to stay with him for his heat, for all of it! Either she stayed with him, or he was going to die or _worse_. He would do anything, _anything_ , if she would protect him. He would clean the halls and the bathrooms and all her medical equipment and laundry and—his eyes watered—her needles if she just stayed with him.

“Shh, there, there, kid. I called a friend of mine to come get you.”

Ice ran down Jason’s spine. “Wh— _what_?”

Who—? She wouldn’t traffic him, would she?

She didn’t stop petting Jason. “He has an adopted omega son a bit older than you who I know he treats very well. I called him when you were nesting and asked him to take care of you for a little bit.”

Jason whimpered. “B—but—”

Dr. Leslie smiled at him. “He told his son that he was bringing you home, and he told me that his son started running around the house to find all his favorite pillows and blankets to make a nest for you. He’s a very sweet boy. I’m sure he’ll take very good care of you.”

“But—” Jason gasped as pain speared his gut, but his mind was racing with terror. “But I’m an omega—”

Dr. Leslie’s smile melted into a slight frown, and she knit her brow. “Jason…can you keep a secret?”

Jason keened desperately. He wanted his mama. He wanted his daddy. Why was Dr. Leslie giving him to someone else? She couldn’t—

Dr. Leslie scruffed him gently, sending his spiraling mind into a dead faint. “Jason. I’m sending you with Batman.”

…Batman?

Batman had saved Jason’s mama from a mean alpha once. He broke the alpha’s arm for trying to touch her in the alley. Everyone knew that Batman protected omegas, and that he never took advantage of them, even when they were in heat. He’d heard of Batman dropping omegas off at Dr. Leslie’s clinic, but he didn’t know that they _knew_ each other.

But what if she was lying? What if she was just saying it to get Jason to go with a trafficker? What if _that_ was why all the gangs left her alone—because she gave them fresh meat?

There was a knock at the door, and Dr. Leslie smiled. “That will be him now. Can he come in?”

Jason’s heart thudded wildly in his chest. On the other side of that door was an alpha. Jason was in heat. Jason wanted to run away before the alpha could find him, but he was cornered, and he couldn’t fight, and if Dr. Leslie was lying, she was just as bad as everyone else. If she was lying, then they’d take him anyway, and they’d hurt him forever and ever.

If she was telling the truth, that was Batman, and Robin was going to nest with him. Robin could defend him from anyone, even Batman if he had to.

There was nothing to lost by giving in except for his dignity.

Jason nodded.

Dr. Leslie smiled again and raised her head. “Come in.”

The door opened, revealing a _huge_ alpha in the hall. Jason blinked. He could _definitely_ believe that man was Batman. But he…looked familiar.

Where had Jason…

No. Way.

“Hi, Jason. I’m Bruce Wayne. Do you want to come with me?”


	17. Dick and Jason, hanging out

Looking out over the glittering city landscape, Jason twisted the cap on his bottle, grinning at the _hisssss-snap_. Dick, next to him, did the same before leaning backwards and kicking his legs absently of the seventy-story drop. It had been a long night, since the bad guys couldn’t be bothered to stagger their schedules, but finally, they had a moment to unwind. Normally, Nightwing wasn’t who he’d pick to relax with, mostly since they usually ended up fighting about something, but they’d worked well together on patrol that night, and…it just felt right. They’d swung by a convenience store, grabbed a couple sodas, and grappled up Wayne Tower to watch the sunrise.

Jason took a deep swig and breathed out a sigh of contentment. “I’ve missed this.”

He placed his cap on his knee and flicked it off, watching it fall hundreds of feet until it became a distant pinprick and then so small it was indistinguishable from the sidewalk.

There was muffled gasp, and Jason was reminded that he was sitting next to the most morally conscientious bat there was.

Jason rolled his eyes because he might be a drug lord but he _was_ going to pick it up later, and he turned to face the moralistic wrath and guilt tripping he was sure awaited him—then froze.

“Really?” Dick’s voice sounded slightly strangled, and his eyes, unobscured because Dick had retracted the whiteout lenses, were watering. “You missed hanging out?”

“Um.” Jason flushed bright red.

What.

The wetness pooled in the corners of Dick’s eyes and then he was crying, and Jason barely managed to restrain his knee-jerk reaction to push Dick off the side of the building to get away from the tears because he didn’t have the heart to say that he’d meant grape Fanta.

“ _Yeaaaah,_ ” Jason went with. Giving him what he wanted would help, right?

It did not help. There were more tears. The was a _hug_ , Dick was leaning in to hug him, there were arms…

Dick rested his head on Jason’s shoulder, and Jason winced slightly. Ugh, feelings.

“I’m so sorry I was such an awful brother,” Dick whispered, his voice small.

In fact, all of Dick was…smaller than he’d seemed when Jason was twelve, even though Jason knew that Dick had only gotten bigger since then. But Dick just seemed fragile. Vulnerable, his hand desperately squeezing Jason’s wrist as though Jason would slip away if Dick didn’t hold onto him.

Little Jason would have killed for something like this. To have Dick Grayson acknowledge him and _want_ Jason around. Dick had been…alright with _Jason_ , but he had been mad that Bruce had taken in Jason, and had rarely ever come around because of it. Those moments that he had come around, though…

Jason supposed he really had missed those a bit.

He clunked his head against Dick’s, gentler than he normally would have been. “You weren’t so bad, you know. A bit of a dick, but…you were pretty good.”

Dick scoffed wetly, and Jason could practically _hear_ him roll his eyes, but the words seemed to have the desired effect. The desperate grip on Jason’s wrist slackened, though he didn’t remove his hand, and Dick slumped against Jason, the tension drained out of him.

Dick was warm. Present. It was…nice.

Yeah, he really had missed this.


	18. Jason and Bruce, shifter au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No capes shifter au

Jason yipped at the human and pressed his back against the tree with as fierce a growl as he could manage when his heart was pounding with utter terror.

His mother had warned him what humans would do, how much they would pay to skin a wolf, especially a shifter. He’d thought that being so small would mean that no one would _want_ his pelt, but she’d assured him that even a pup’s pelt would be enough for a hat or the lining of a coat, or even just a trophy for the human to boast that they had defeated a wolf shifter. And that was only if they killed him.

He should have stayed in his cave. He should have, but he was so _hungry_ , and he could smell the storm about to roll in, and he didn’t want to be cold _and_ hungry. Now he was going to be dead. He was too weak to transform into a human to fight higher than the man’s ankles, not that that would even work, and even if he _could_ transform, that would just make him a larger target.

The human crouched, but stayed where he was. “Hey, little puppy. Where’s your pack?”

Jason snapped his teeth at the man and growled again, but his fur bristled with fear. _Dead._ His pack was _dead._ They weren’t going to save him. If he could just get past the human…but he was backed up against a cliff ten feet away behind him, and the human was close enough to grab him if he tried to run to either side.

“It’s about to rain soon. You shouldn’t be out here alone. Do you have a pack? Or do you need a den?” The man glanced up at the sky.

Jason seized his opportunity and took off, racing to get around the man before he could look down and react.

It might have saved him, but the wet leaves slid on top of each other, sending his front paws skidding underneath him and his face crashing into the dirt.

The human chuckled, and then there were giant fingers around his ribs, lifting him off the ground. Jason wriggled and snapped, but the human’s grip was like bands of iron as he pulled Jason up against his chest. His arms, circling around him and pressing Jason so tight against the human’s body that he couldn’t move even to bite the human, were nearly as wide as Jason.

“There you go, puppy. Let’s get you somewhere warm, okay?” the human said, like Jason had any choice at all.

Jason snarled, but it sounded weak and puppyish even to his own ears. If he was in human form, he knew he would be crying.

The human set off on a brisk pace, bouncing Jason every step. Jason thought he was going to be sick. He _hoped_ he was going to be sick, sick all over the human’s chest. It would be a petty revenge, but hopefully enough for the human to want to kill him quickly instead of throwing him in a fighting ring like his dad had been. Jason had seen the scars on his dad’s skin, and knew there had been worse scars in his mind.

They came to a cabin after only about a mile’s walk.

There had been humans within a mile of him the _whole time_ , and he’d been so stupid that he’d never even suspected.

Jason didn’t realize that terrible, heartbreaking keen was coming from his own throat until the human’s fingers brushed behind his ear in a mockery of comfort.

“Hey, hey,” the human crooned, “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re okay now.”

No, he wasn’t going to be okay; he was never going to be okay again. He was going to be _dead_ or worse, but the human kept petting him and whispering soothing nothings and it felt so _good_ even though it hurt something deep inside.

The human walked up the steps of the cabin, every _thunk_ of heavy boots on cedar resounding like the beats of a drum. The human rearranged Jason to free one of his hands so he could open the door, and Jason made one last effort to thrash free.

The human opened the door and stepped inside without even seeming to notice.

“I’m home,” the human called as he shut the door behind them and knelt down.

Jason closed his eyes tightly and sagged helplessly against the human. He was stuck. He couldn’t transform into a human, and he couldn’t open the door as a wolf. All he could do now was wait for his death and hope it didn’t hurt too much.

Claws scraped across wood, and Jason snapped his eyes open to a set of glowing blue eyes.

It was a shifter.

It was a giant _wolf_ shifter, staring down at him.

Jason blinked at the shifter—the _other shifter_ who wasn’t dead or scarred up or dragging chains. The older shifter leaned in very close and sniffed Jason all over before nudging the human’s hands.

Jason was set down on his shaky paws for just a moment before the other shifter—a large pup, not quite an adult, but still so much larger than Jason—lowered opened jaws over the back of Jason’s neck and bit down firmly enough to hold him, but not firmly enough to hurt, and picked him up.

Jason whimpered. Why was this wolf, who would be more than capable of ripping the human’s throat out, living in his home? Why hadn't the human hurt the shifter? Was—was the shifter the human’s _pet_? Did he want _Jason_ to be a pet?

Jason’s empty stomach churned against the idea of degrading himself to being a pet, but…it was warm inside the cabin. It was dry. There weren’t any predators except the human, and the human might even feed them. Or…the human might not even _know_ that they weren’t just wolves. Then he wouldn’t know how much he could sell them for.

The other shifter set Jason down on a pile of blankets in front of a dying fire and nudged him with his nose until his knees collapsed underneath him and Jason collapsed with his nose pressed into the scratchy wool that smelled thoroughly of the older wolf.

The other wolf dropped down onto the blanket behind him, then curled around him and started to groom him, licking away dirt and sweat and nibbling at the mats in Jason’s fur. Jason whined in confusion and contentment. He hadn't felt so cared for and protected since his mom died.

Maybe…maybe Jason could stand being a pet. Just for a bit.


	19. Jason and Damian, escape the League

Jason pressed his hand firmly over the kid’s mouth. It was probably unnecessary since Damian had been trained to obey orders from any of his family, which Talia insisted included Jason—only because she was trying to manipulate him into attaching to her, but it was working in his favor.

The brick dug into his back, cool and wet in a way that screamed _Gotham._ Nostalgia poured over him in wave after wave with every second he stayed pressed to the alley wall, waiting for the assassins to be well and surely gone, bringing him back to life in a way the Lazarus Pit could only imitate. He was so close. He was so close to home, but they knew where he was going. It would be almost impossible to get to the Manor, to _Bruce_ , to _Dad_ , but he couldn’t take care of Damian alone for much longer. It had been two days since he’d eaten, and more than half a day since he’d been able to even steal enough for the toddler to eat anything. He couldn’t just bring the assassins to Bruce’s doorstep with no warning, either—images flashed through his head of Bruce, Alfred, even that little kid who’d taken up his cape all shredded open, painfully and slowly to punish Jason for daring to run, for _daring_ to steal an al Ghul.

But where could he—

Jason’s eyebrows rose at the thought. It wouldn’t work…would it?

Dick slipped in through his window, sore after a long patrol. His head was spinning slow circles after smacking the side of his face into a wall while doing some complicated grappling to dodge gunfire. He’d need to check himself for a concussion, but he didn’t think it was that bad.

He stretched weary limbs and stripped out of his costume, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. He’d pick it up later.

No, he wouldn’t. He would just hope that no one broke into his apartment tonight.

He was cold enough to pull on sweatpants, but not cold enough to bother to find a moderately clean shirt. He was hungry, though, and decided to grab a post-patrol snack before crashing on the sofa for the night.

When Dick flicked the lights of the main room on, he didn’t actively process the back of the head on the couch. Some level of his consciousness probably dismissed it as Tim, but it wasn’t a threat, really. He was too tired and hungry to care that Tim had apparently ditched Gotham to break into his apartment again.

A gasp, and a creak of the sofa as the person on the couch stood, and Dick blinked. That sounded too heavy to be Tim.

He snapped his head around and froze.

“Dick?” Jason whispered.

That was Jason. That was Jason, standing there, shock and joy warring in his expression, clutching a small child who sleepily clutched Jason back.

That was Jason, alive.

…maybe he’d hit his head harder than he’d thought.


	20. Bruce and Tim, nightmare

It wasn’t that Tim was still shaking from a terrible nightmare, a _memory,_ really, of the murder case Bruce had tried and failed to keep him away from. It was the tears streaming down his cheeks no matter that he’d swiped his face raw with the cuffs of his sleeves. It wasn’t that a murderer could be hiding in literally any shadow and do to Tim what he’d done to his victims, or the fact that no one would even care.

No, it _wasn’t_ those things.

It was that Dick said that both he and Jason used to sleep in Bruce’s bed sometimes, so _clearly_ it was a Robin requirement, and even though Tim had been Robin for a couple months, he had left his duties neglected.

Was Robin supposed to _knock_ , or just barge in? Tim couldn’t see Dick knocking. Jason…Tim remembered seeing Jason in the first year he’d lived with Bruce. At the time, all he could think was _that’s Robin and Batman that’s Robin and Batman that’s Robin and Batman,_ but now, looking back on those times…Jason had always seemed so _nervous_. He’d been cautious in how he reacted to everything, even Bruce.

Jason, in his early days, probably knocked, and Tim was in his early days.

Tim knocked quietly on the door. Had he done that right? Should he have knocked louder? Had Bruce even heard him?

“Tim?” Oh, apparently Bruce _had_ heard him.

Oh, god. Bruce had heard him.

There was no going back. He couldn’t just pretend he’d _accidentally_ knocked on the door the way he’d pretended that he’d _accidentally_ leaned against Bruce when he fell “asleep” during Dick’s mandatory movie night. Could he pretend that he was just…testing the quality of the door? _My, my, Mr. Wayne, that’s some mighty fine…whatever kind of wood that is._

No, then Bruce would be upset that Tim couldn’t deduce what kind of wood it was just by sight.

“You can come in,” Bruce called through a yawn.

Had he woken Bruce up? The nightmare had woken _him_ up, so Bruce had probably been sleeping.

Still, it was too late.

Tim opened the door and slipped inside before he could panic and run. Bruce flicked on a bedside lamp.

Tim could _feel_ Bruce’s eyes take him in, from the defensive way he curled in on himself to his blotchy cheeks and pink eyes.

Bruce sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Tim? What’s wrong?”

Tim tried and failed to answer several times before whimpering miserably and taking a half step forward, aborting the plan before he could go any farther into Bruce’s room. This was a bad idea from the beginning. He shouldn’t have even _thought_ of coming into Bruce’s room. That wasn’t a _Robin_ thing, that was a _Bruce’s son_ thing.

But Tim was weak and scared and couldn’t make himself leave.

Bruce’s frown softened, and he pulled back the blankets invitingly. Tim shuffled forward, glancing at Bruce every step to make sure he wasn’t misreading the permission.

Bruce never yelled at him or told him to go away. He just wordlessly extended his hand and helped Tim climb into the bed.

The bed was soft as a cloud, but not being alone was heaven. Finally, the rabbit-beating of his heart slowed to a normal anxious heartbeat. Apparently getting to sleep with Bruce when you were scared _was_ a Robin thing.

Tim absently wondered if normal hugs counted as Robin requirements, but dismissed the though as unlikely.

Tim laid down, careful to keep his limbs tightly tucked against his sides in case he suddenly became a flailer in the middle of the night. He didn’t want to smack Bruce.

And then there was a thing on him.

Oh.

That was Bruce’s arm around his chest, sleepily pulling him up so that his head was pillowed on Bruce’s arm and his back was pressed to Bruce’s broad chest. Every slow rise and fall of Bruce’s chest pressed into his back, constantly reminding Tim that he wasn’t alone, that _Batman_ would protect him because Batman always did his very best to protect Robin. And Tim would stay right where he was safe, because Batman couldn’t handle losing Robin again.

And if that meant Tim got warmth and attention, well.

He’d just have to take them.

He was Robin, after all.


	21. Jason and Damian, escape the League pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I caved.

Jason’s heart hammered against his ribs harder than the crowbar ever did as he picked the meticulously secure locks on Dick’s front door. If it had been just him, he would have gone in through the window, since he knew that Dick would have less security on his preferred point of access, since Dick was extremely lazy and no one wanted to finagle a dozen locks while bleeding out on a windowsill, but he didn’t want to risk it with Damian in his arms.

Instead, Jason had climbed three flights of stairs, carrying Damian because if the kid was sleeping, then he wouldn’t feel how hungry he was. Jason could certainly felt how hungry he was, and he had hoped against hope that Dick would be home, even though it was too early in the night, just so he wouldn’t have to spend twenty minutes completely exposed in the hallway while trying to get the door open.

The last lock sprung, and Jason gave a silent cry of victory as he pushed the door open.

Jason adjusted Damian on his hips and hurried into the apartment, barely keeping himself from slamming the door behind him.

Jason stopped in his tracks just inside the door.

Dick’s apartment was just how it had been before—

Before.

Jason didn’t dare flick the light on, but he was sure that the pile of socks in the corner was unmoved from the time of Jason’s death. That had been…a year? A year and a half? Jason hadn’t been able to keep track of the time, but he was sure that he was at least sixteen or seventeen now.

God, Dick was a slob.

Jason swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his robe and forced himself to keep moving. He didn’t know what they were going to do next, whatever Bruce decided when Dick called him— _DickwasgoingtocallhimJasonwascominghome_ —but that would come later. Right now, he had to eat something, not just because of the gnawing hunger in his stomach, but also in case the ninjas came and he needed to fight them.

Jason picked his way carefully through the room until he could lay Damian on the couch. Damian fussed in his sleep, but Jason petted his hair and cooed at him in soft Arabic nothings. When Damian had settled, Jason pulled Dick’s coat from the back of the couch—Alfred would have a heart attack—and draped it over the sleeping toddler.

Jason should have gotten up and immediately raided Dick’s refrigerator, but he waited.

The weak glow of streetlamps and city lights leaked in through the window, casting just a sliver of light on Damian’s sleeping face. Damian was always so tense, even though he kept his tiny features so cool and composed. Asleep, though, Damian’s face was heavy with exhaustion, but…soft. Relaxed in a way he hadn’t ever been in the League headquarters.

Talia had seen that tiny little face and tried to train him to be a killer. She’d hurt him so much, just like she’d hurt Jason, but Damian was Talia’s _son_ , Damian was _a baby_. He wouldn’t let anyone touch Damian, never again, and if Talia or Ra's wanted him back, they would take him over Jason's cold dead body, again and again and again, no matter how many times he had to come back to steal Damian away from the monsters that were his family.

It wouldn't come to that, though. They had the Bats on their side, and the entire Justice League if it came to it. He didn’t know how Bruce would feel about the fact that he’d stolen Talia’s child, but surely Bruce would let Damian stay, or at least find Damian a safe home away from the League.

“Sleep well, Dami,” Jason murmured, pressing a light kiss to Damian’s head. “You’re safe now.”


	22. Soulmate AU part two - Dick

Dick saw the kid start to fall from half a block away and knew with sickening assuredness that he would be too late to catch him, even grappling as fast as he could. He was going to watch someone fall again, and he could only hope that the kid would survive so Dick could call an ambulance.

And then someone was behind the kid.

For a sickening second, Dick thought that the kid had been pushed, but then the second person grabbed the kid by the hood of his coat and yanked him back onto the roof.

Relief slammed into Dick so hard he fell to his knees on the rough gravel roof before he could grapple to the next roof. The kid wasn’t going to die.

 _I couldn’t save them, I couldn’t save him_. But it didn’t matter that Dick couldn’t save him, because someone else had saved him, and Dick wasn’t going to have to see another skull cracked open and a person’s life seeping into the ground around him.

Dick had to take several deep breath before he was able to pick himself up and keep grappling to the roof and the kid.

When he landed in the ankle-deep snow, two sets of wide blue eyes stared up at him.

They were _both_ kids.

The younger kid was clean and dressed for the warmth in a new-looking coat and snow boots. An expensive camera hung around his neck. Dick was pretty sure that he’d actually seen that kid before.

The older kid was filthy and dressed in an assortment of winter clothes, none of which fit him properly and most of which had holes in it. He was clearly starving and clearly terrified.

“What are you kids _doing_ out here?” Dick cried.

Both the kids froze. Dick had no idea why until the older one started shrieking, “No, no, _fuck_ no!” and the younger one screamed, “This is the best day of my life!”

Dick froze. Those were his soulwords. Those were his soul _mates._

“Well.” Dick blinked, not sure what to do.

Who had let the younger one out in the snow, alone in the middle of Gotham? The older one was obviously homeless, a runaway if not an orphan. Whatever the reasons the two of them were on the streets, they clearly didn’t have any responsible adults in their lives.

Dick squinted at them. “Do you want to get some cocoa?”

Dick rolled into the Batcave half an hour later, Jason clinging white-knuckled to Dick’s waist, lured only with the promise of food, and Tim practically bouncing in the seat in front of Dick, worryingly having needed absolutely no coaxing to come with a complete stranger to a secondary location.

“Bruce! I found No Fuck No and This Is The Best Day Of My Life! You have to adopt them!”


	23. Tim and Jason - Titans Tower

Tim was running on coffee and prayers to a God he didn’t believe in when he was suddenly grabbed with a hand over his mouth and yanked into the broom closet.

Tim groaned in annoyance. One of the Titans had locked him into a broom closet during the height of the _last_ prank war, and he was _still_ washing the glitter out of his uniform. He’d been so careful to avoid being caught alone and vulnerable while the banana peels and shaving cream were flying, but the universe hated him, didn’t it?

So it was with only mild irritation and a good deal of existential resignation that Tim let himself be dragged. Most of his teammates had superstrength, so it would be useless to thrash and only more embarrassing if they were recording this.

Who even was it? Too tall to be Bart, and—it wasn’t like he _ogled_ anyone, but held as he was against his captor’s chest, he would have felt breasts if there were any there. His captor felt too tall to be Kon, so…Dick? Had Dick come just to torment him? He’d found the glitter bomb hilarious.

Or maybe it was Bruce, and this was some sort of weird training.

Or maybe, the ridiculous little conspiracy theorist inside him suggested as his teeth scraped uncomfortably against the unfamiliar leather of his captor’s glove, there had been a break in.

But that was—

“I’m not going to hurt you,” said the obvious supervillain, and there went all Tim’s plans for a quiet night. “Just hold still.”

Tim blinked, because no one was supposed to be able to get into the tower. Bruce oversaw the security personally because—in Dick’s words—it was the only thing that allowed him to let his kids get more than one hundred miles away from him without having a panic attack. Not that Tim was his kid or anything, but try telling Bruce that.

“Mmphh,” Tim protested, trying to elbow the person holding him in the gut, but he was too well pinned.

“I’m really not going to hurt you,” the villain pleaded, voice strained with unusual stress for someone who had all the power in the situation. “Please, I need your help!”

Tim grumbled incoherently, but the message of _strange way to ask_ was made perfectly clear.

The arms holding him abruptly pulled back—which wasn’t great, because they were also the only things holding Tim up, and Tim collapsed.

The arms were suddenly back around him, pulling Tim back up and turning him around to face the man. Luckily, the man waited a second for Tim to get his feet underneath him that time before pulling back his hands back.

“Please, I need your help,” the man rushed.

He was a tall man, black hair with a shock of white in the front and _glowing_ green eyes—probably a meta then, maybe unstable—and he seemed _extremely_ familiar. But where…

Oh, the man was talking again. Tim tried to keep up. “I escaped from the League of Assassins, but I can’t remember—I know—there was a _clown_ , and a _car_ , and—and _this!_ ”

The man practically slapped the _R_ symbol on Tim's chest, and everything fell into place.

The League. The glowing.

Robin.

“I remember this, _please,_ did we know each other? I need—I think I have family somewhere, but I need your help!”

That was Jason Todd.

Was this actually happening, or was this just proof that Tim needed more sleep? Oh, _god_ , if he told Bruce that Jason was alive and it was just a hallucination, Bruce would never forgive him. Tim was already on thin ice because of the bagel launcher situation.

“Huh.” Tim was eloquent. “How about we run some tests—” a good idea anyway “—and get some _sleep_. We can probably…find your family in the morning.”

Yeah. That would…that would work. Right?

Jason surged forward and wrapped Tim in the tightest hug he’d ever had. Jason? shuddered with suppressed sobs.

Tim awkwardly Jason hugged back. “You’re…you’re safe now.”

There were tears on Tim’s neck, and warmth seeping in through his uniform as his ribs were crushed. Jason certainly _felt_ real.

Maybe he should call Bruce earlier than he’d planned.


End file.
